


Stop (Don't Push the Button)

by slashy (slashmyheartandhopetoporn)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmyheartandhopetoporn/pseuds/slashy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What most people don't know about Hermann and Newt is that they've got quite the history, and this is it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> There's a few things you should know going into this, one being that I know fuck all about math and molecular bio, so any discussions of either are vague and awful. Oops. Also, I don't even KNOW if Hermann is actually a mathematician or a statistician or what. I just know he works with numbers, sooo...math!
> 
> Do not try to follow the timeline of this. I am the first to admit that, while there is a vague timeline you could follow if you wanted to, it probably doesn't make that much sense. I started out spending half an hour trying to figure out the timeline of that actual movie before working on this, and it was kind of impossible, so I just decided to screw it. I'm sorry if that bothers any readers :( I know some people appreciate the frame of reference. 
> 
> This fic is basically me taking 11,000 words to explore my own personal headcanons about this pairing, who I really adore and think are kind of perfect. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Titles are super hard, so I stole the title to a song by Susanne Sundfor, which I've decided is this ship's theme song.
> 
> This is unbeta'd; all mistakes are belong to me.
> 
> OH OH ALSO: I don't know what it's like to live with whatever kind of pain Hermann has, or how that would impact things like, you know, sex. So sorry if that part of this fic is unrealistic.
> 
> ETA 9/01: It was brought to my attention that this fic may have issues with ableism and possibly some other things (though nothing else was specifically stated, the person was very general). I asked for clarification, but didn't receive any. If anyone has any suggestions for how I can better EDIT or TAG/WARN for this fic, please do not hesitate to let me know! I don't want to upset or offend any readers, especially if there's some way for me to make this story better.
> 
> With that in mind, I will WARN THAT THIS FIC MAY HAVE ISSUES WITH ABLEISM! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

            The thing most people don’t know about Newt and Hermann is that they go back. Way back. Like, twenty years back by the time they’re shoved into that Hong Kong Shatterdome lab, if you round up.

            They meet in college: Newt, at the tender age of eighteen, is finishing his bachelors in molecular biology at M.I.T. Hermann, twenty one at the time, is one of his instructors. Though it’s Newt’s last semester before he gets his degree, he’s forced to take some bullshit math class required by his major. He’s Not Happy about it, and ready to make the biggest fuss about the fact that his advisor is making him take it. That is, until the first day Newt walks into the classroom and finds Hermann standing, awkward and stiff, in front of the blackboard.

            Doctor Hermann Gottlieb wears plain, ill-fitting sweaters paired with boring ties, boring shoes, and the most condescending frown Newt’s ever seen. His hair is parted to the side, the sharp line of pale scalp visible from across the room. Newt can tell Hermann is young and that he’s bitter (and Newt would be, too, if he had to walk with a cane at that age), but to Newt, Hermann is the single most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen, and he likes him instantly. He laughs out loud the first time he sees him, earning a sharp, _mean_ look, and he doesn’t even care. This semester is going to be great.

            The other students don’t take to Hermann like Newt does, that much is clear. Hermann is harsh, strict, and more than a little caustic if his leg’s acting up, and his personality flaws combined with the other students’ ego issues about being taught by someone as old as they are, and sometimes younger, make for a bad classroom environment. Newt thinks Hermann is hilarious, both intentionally and unintentionally, and the other students don’t much like _him_ either, so he’s more than happy to consider himself on the same team as Hermann. Hermann doesn’t see it like that. No matter how friendly a hello Newt offers Hermann whenever he sees him, he gets nothing back but a curt nod of acknowledgement. If Hermann’s having a good day, Newt might be graced with a generous, “Good morning, Mr. Geiszler.” What Newt can’t decide is what Hermann needs more: a good fuck or a good friend. And which would Newt rather be?

            It’s only once Newt gets his first assignment back that his affection for Hermann falters.

            “You gave me a _C_!” Newt practically screeches in Hermann’s office later that day. “What the fuck, man!”

            “Language, Mr. Geiszler,” Hermann says in his ridiculous, _stupid_ accent. “And let’s be sure we have our facts correct: I gave you a C _+_.”

            Newt is mad enough to spit, “Look, Gottlieb—”

            “ _Doctor_ Gottlieb.”

            “—this isn’t the grade I deserve.”

            “Regardless,” Hermann says with a nasty smile, “it is most certainly the grade you have earned.”

            Newt’s mouth drops.

            “Now, if you don’t mind I have other work to grade.”

            “By which you mean you have more GPAs to ruin,” Newt says bitterly before leaving the small room.

            It’s not until two assignments later that Newt gets his first B. Though, Hermann continues to insist that his work is disorganized and unfocused, and that in general Newt treats the class, and Hermann himself, with an irreverence that’s inappropriate and unacceptable. Hermann tells this to Newt one day when Newt is “harassing” (Hermann’s word, obviously) him with questions.

            Newt just rolls his eyes. “Dude, whatever, just tell me what I have to do to get an A.”

            “What you have to _do_ , Mr. Geiszler? Well, it’s downright simple. _Do better_.”

            Newt offers a veritable growl in response, and it takes everything in his power to keep from leaping across the desk and shaking Hermann like a ragdoll. “Will you just get laid already so you can get that stupid stick out of your ass long enough to be reasonable about your fucking class!” he snaps instead.

            Hermann, who is clearly at the end of his rope when it comes to Newt, breathes deeply through his nostrils and says tightly back, “I’ll be sure to tell my partner about your suggestion, you obnoxious little prick.”

            There’s a pause. A long pause. Hermann is blushing furiously. Newt’s face has gone slack with disbelief.

            And then Newt laughs, loud and long and deep from his belly. “Oh my god, that’s the greatest thing anyone has ever said in the history of, like, _ever_.” He wipes at a stray tear that’s ambling down his face and chuckles a little more. “And seriously, please tell your _partner_ what I said. Anything that helps you, like, actually enjoy life.”

            “Get out now, Mr. Geiszler. _Now!_ ” Hermann yells, his face beet red.

            Newt’s still giggling helplessly, but he follows Hermann’s orders.

 

            There are three things Newt takes away from this conversation:

  1. Hermann has somehow actually managed to wrangle himself a significant other.
  2. Oh my god, Hermann has _sex_.
  3. Hermann is like the worst professor of all time; seriously, what the fuck kind of academic advice is “do better”? Talk about super unhelpful.



           The entire exchange ultimately reignites Newt’s fondness for his prickly math teacher. Hermann is a wealth of intrigue, from his wounded leg to his genius intellect; Newt just thinks he’s really fucking interesting. Newt’s got a thing about the unknown, the unusual. He’s passionate about the undefined, and determined to make that which is foreign into that which is native. Hermann is the ultimate foreigner, Newt thinks, so Hermann gets Newt’s attention.

            He especially gets his attention after one otherwise insignificant Friday night. Newt makes his way inside a bar to meet some friends, fake ID at the ready, and finds himself unable to move after taking a few steps inside. He thinks his eyes must be deceiving him, because there’s no way he’s actually seeing what he thinks he seeing, but sure enough it’s him. Hermann fucking Gottlieb is standing by the bar with a small group of people, cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the bar and the half-drunk pint—holy shit,he’s holding _a pint_ —in his hand.

            Hermann, stuffy Hermann, hasn’t relaxed his wardrobe entirely, but he’s done enough to appear on first glance like a normal human male. He’s still wearing one of his classic beige button ups, buttons done all the way to his chin, but he’s rolled up the sleeves, which means Newt can see his _forearms_ ( _scandalous_ ). Hermann’s ditched the tie and the knit sweaters he’s fond of and swapped out his boring black slacks for a pair of fitted black jeans. Newt doesn’t know why the hell Hermann even owns a pair of fitted jeans, wonders if someone spilled something on his beloved slacks and then loaned him that pair of ridiculous legwear he’s sporting right now. Tells himself to stop thinking about other people’s pants unless he’s trying to get into them, otherwise stick to worrying about his own.

            Newt turns his attention away from Hermann’s outfit and directs it towards the people Hermann is standing with. There’s two attractive women sitting on stools, looking bored (and Newt spares a moment to think that Hermann’s leg must be killing him, the way he’s just standing like that), and there’s a man, too. A man standing next to Hermann. A man with his hand resting comfortably on Hermann’s waist. Newt doesn’t notice this, of course. What he _does_ notice about the man is that he’s holding a shot of something, probably tequila, and he’s sipping from it. Newt instantly dislikes him because a) God, no, _tequila_?and b) who the fuck sips a shot? More importantly, who the fucks sips a shot of _tequila_?

            Without giving it a second thought, Newt makes his way towards Hermann. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says once he reaches the small group.

            Hermann freezes, then slowly turns to see Newt grinning beside him. “Mr. Geiszler,” he says tersely.

            “Aw, c’mon, call me Newt, Hermann,” Newt says, smiling jovially at the others, though his smile is a little less radiant when it lands on the tequila-sipper.

            Hermann looks impressively scandalized. “Do not call me that, Mr. Geiszler! You will call me Doctor Gottlieb, or better yet, you will call me nothing at all.”

            “You are just no fun, dude,” Newt says, and one of the seated women mutters, “You can say that again,” which pulls a giggle out of the other. Newt’s smile falters as Hermann’s cheeks redden. There’s an awkward silence. Newt is sure there’s much more Hermann would like to chastise him for, but he’s hesitant to do so in present company. The guy standing next Hermann has moved his hand off his hip, and is rubbing his face with it instead.

            “I think I’ll take my leave,” Hermann says stiffly, putting his glass on the bar. “It was lovely to meet you both,” he says politely to the women, but he doesn’t meet their eyes. They nod, but it’s clear they don’t share the sentiment. Hermann turns to the man next to him. “Mark?” he questions.

            “I’m going to stay for a bit, Hermann. But I’ll see you back at your place later,” then he leans in to give Hermann a kiss. But Hermann, always uncomfortable, turns his head so that Mark’s lips land on his cheek instead of his mouth. Mark sighs and Hermann grabs his cane and walks away.

            Newt follows him, of course. Hermann’s moving pretty fast for a guy with a cane in a building filled with drunk people, pushing his way through the bodies till he’s out the door. But Newt is right behind him.

            “Mr. Geiszler, I assure you that I’ve had it with this evening and want nothing more than to go home. Do not, I ask—no, I _beg_ —push me right now.”

            They stand there, frozen in their respective spots, drunks talking loudly and smoking cigarettes around them.

            “I’m not trying to push you, Doctor Gottlieb,” Newt says, but he can suddenly see with precise clarity that this is exactly what he’s trying to do. For a moment, he feels guilty.

            “Then just let me walk away and do not attempt to follow.”

            “That’s no fun, Doc, and god knows you need a little fun.”

            Hermann sighs. “Mr. Geiszler. _Newton_. Please just let me go home? I understand we’re close in age, but I am still your professor and you are my student, and I do not make it a habit to socialize with my students. So do me this one favor and please allow me to take my damn leave.”

            Newt opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. He nods instead and doesn’t follow when Hermann turns and hustles down the street.

           

            The next time they see each other in class it’s a tad awkward. Hermann blushes faintly as he hands Newt his latest set of calculations (another goddamn _B_ ), and Newt can think of nothing clever to say, so he stays silent.

            It’s occurred to Newt in the days that have passed since Friday night that he might _like_ Hermann. Just a wee bit. Nothing major. He just thinks Hermann might be the right mix of awful and perfect for him, is all. No big deal. But it changes things for Newt. It changes the way he looks at Hermann, and it changes the way he perceives the way he looks at Hermann. Basically, it kind of takes all the fun out of haranguing Herman for being such a stick in the mud.

            The realization of his crush doesn’t keep him from needling Hermann endlessly during his office hours or after class, but it does change the tenor of their meetings. Newt can’t bring himself to poke fun at Hermann’s personality since he’s seen him so vulnerable, so he sticks to arguing with the doctor about his grades. It never gets him anywhere.

            “I’m starting to think you take pleasure in pissing me off,” Newt grumbles one afternoon.

            “I could most easily say the same thing about you,” Hermann answers tiredly.

            Newt sighs. “I fucking give up, Doc. I’ll take the damn B.”

            “Thank the stars,” Hermann says, throwing his hands in the air.

            Newt rolls his eyes and swipes his papers off of Hermann’s desk. “See you next week,” he says as he stands.

            “Good afternoon, Mr. Geiszler,” Hermann replies.

            For the next couple of assignments, Newt accepts the grades he’s given without a fight. But when Hermann gets it in his ridiculous little head to give Newt a B- on a set of problems, Newt almost rips the assignment in half and makes a silent promise to himself to not leave Hermann’s office until he changes the grade.

            He’s stomping his way to Hermann’s tiny little room, planning his opening tirade, when he stops just short of the door. It’s opened, but only a sliver, and Hermann’s voice carries ever-so-slightly from the crack.

            “I don’t, I don’t understand. I thought things were going well. Mark, I’m sorry they didn’t like me, but I can’t see how you could have thought we’d all get on. Oh, you can’t be serious. I would never, Mark, never! I just can’t believe…no…no! And really, to do this over the phone. I’m sorry you feel that way, but this time you deserve it! Fine. Fine. You know where the spare is. I want it all gone by the time I get home tonight. Jesus Christ, Mark, like I give a damn. If it’s not gone, then you can pick it out of my trash at your earliest convenience.”

            Newt knows he’s heard way too much. He knows he should have walked away as soon as he recognized the call was personal. And he knows there’s no way he can argue about his stupid (but still totally incorrect, let’s be real) grade now. So he walks away, quietly this time, and hopes Hermann never heard him arrive.

           

            When he sees Hermann the next time in class, Hermann gives no inkling that he knows Newt eavesdropped on his conversation with his ex, so Newt assumes he’s safe. He does his best to go on acting as if he doesn’t know that something major and personal in Hermann’s life has happened. It’s a fine line Newt walks, trying to seem normal but at the same time not wanting to say anything that might leave a mark on Hermann’s delicate emotional skin. It’s a weird metaphor, but that’s why Newt’s a biologist and not an author.

            Newt also can’t deny that there’s a pretty significant part of him that’s screaming, _FUCK YEAH MOTHERFUCKERS_ , at the knowledge that Hermann is back on the market. Not that he’s planning to really do anything about it, regardless of how many kinks he’s developed about sex on desks and spanking, because he knows Hermann wouldn’t stand for it. That Hermann probably can’t stand him. Which is fine, like, whatever man. Newt doesn’t need Hermann’s affection or any romantic bullshit like that. He’s perfectly satisfied to just bug the ever-loving shit out of the doctor so at least he knows Hermann won’t forget his name anytime soon. And he _knows_ that’s the case. He’s worked so damn hard over the last three and a half months to be sure that Hermann always remembers Newt, even if he’s remembered as Hermann’s most obnoxious student of all time. Newt will take it.

 

            It’s a slow trip to Hermann’s office to drop off Newt’s final project. He doesn’t want this to be _it_. Doesn’t want to consider that he might not see Hermann again. They’re in different professional fields, and on top of that Newt is going abroad to Japan for graduate school. He isn’t sure how long he’ll be away. And there’s that whole part where Hermann’s not his biggest fan anyway, and would never voluntarily interact with Newt again. Which again, fine, whatever. Newt’s not a wallower, and he’s definitely not wallowing right now. Not even a little bit. He just doesn’t see the point in rushing to Hermann’s office.

            When he finally arrives, the door is wide open, so Newt can’t even take a minute to brace himself before walking in. He just has to face the beast head on.

            Hermann raises his head when he hears footsteps, and he puts his finest frown on display when he sees that it’s Newt in the doorway.

            “All right, let’s have your final rant about my teaching technique, shall we?” Hermann says, gesturing for Newt to sit down in the too-familiar chair.

            “Nah, Doc. Not today,” Newt replies, but he takes the proffered seat.

            “Are you ill?” Hermann asks sharply. “Are you dying? Is the world ending?”

            Newt shakes his head, smiles slightly. “Listen, I know that sometimes I’ve made things weird between us. It’s kind of a skill of mine. I just wanted to say…” Newt let his words trail off, lets the silence stretch.

            “That you’re sorry?” Hermann offers.

            “Psssh, no,” Newt answers. “That I’m glad. What’s life without a little weird?” He’s grinning and Hermann is definitely _not_ grinning, but he doesn’t look ready to murder Newt in his sleep, either, which is a noted improvement as far as his facial expressions go.

            “Well, if you’re not going to apologize for being a horrendous student, then just hand me your blasted final and leave.” Hermann holds out his hand expectantly and raises an eyebrow.

            Newt pulls his papers out of his bag and hands them to Hermann. He stands from behind the desk. “All right, _Doctor_ Gottlieb. Shit’s been real.” Newt extends a hand.

            “Language, Newt,” Hermann replies, shaking the offered hand with a slight smile.

            Newt grins, then leaves Hermann’s office for the last time.

            Hermann gives Newt a B+ for the semester.


	2. Two

           It’s four years before Newt sees Hermann again. Newt’s landed himself a speaker position at a conference in Berlin. Don’t ask him how he did it. He couldn’t tell you besides saying that’s he’s brilliant. And handsome. Both of which are totally true.

           Turns out Hermann is speaking there, too. Newt knows exactly how Hermann got the gig: by being dull, stuffy, and one of the smartest men in the world.

            Newt spies him for the first time in the hotel lobby. Hermann’s talking to a few other men, though upon closer inspection Newt guesses it’s not a conversation so much as a heated debate. Hermann is swinging his cane around in an agitated fashion, and his hair’s a little mussed. Newt put his feelings for Hermann in the freezer once he graduated from M.I.T., and he’s not about to let them thaw out now, so he doesn’t allow himself to think about how fucking _cute_ all of Hermann’s little flyaways look, he just makes his way to the circle of men.

            They’re arguing in German, which Newt didn’t know Hermann spoke, but he should have known with a name like _Hermann Gottlieb_. His own German’s a little rusty, but he remembers enough to follow what’s being said as he approaches, and to interrupt in the language.

            Hermann is obviously shocked. He looks once at Newt, then immediately turns back to the men he was talking to, only to freeze mid-sentence and turn his head to take Newt in properly.

            “Mr. Geiszler,” Hermann says faintly. “What a surprise.” He excuses himself from the others and walks a few feet away with Newt. “What are you doing here?”

            Newt laughs. Hermann looks a little older and just as agitated as Newt remembers him on the first day of class. “I’m a speaker, Doc. What about you?”

            Hermann has taken a moment to organize himself. He’s smoothed down his stray hairs and straightened out his tie. “I, too, am speaking.”

            “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Newt says. “Hey, you want to grab a drink after the dinner tonight? Catch up?”

            Hermann looks like he’s going to say no. Newt wouldn’t blame him if that was his automatic response to anything having to do with Newt. But then he says, “Yes, yes I think I would.”

            And Newt beams. He’s going to get Hermann _so drunk_.

 

            They’re seated at the hotel bar a few hours later, each of them fervently talking about their personal research.

            “Oh, god, _math_ ,” Newt groans. “Math is just so… _ugh_.”

            “Excuse me, Geiszler, but you’d be nowhere without math! And it’s certainly more stable than your ridiculously disorganized theories about biology!”

            “And what would you know about that?”

            “Enough to know that you are so dreadfully full of shit, Mr. Geiszler!”

            If they’re both a little drunk, then that’s nobody’s business but their own. And Newt’s totally going to reward himself with a new piece of lab equipment of his choice.

            They rehash the same old comfortable arguments about how stiff Hermann is and how uncontrolled Newt is. Hermann’s boring, Newt’s unpredictable. They’re both becoming insufferable to the other people at the bar. After an hour of scathing looks from the other patrons and the bartenders, Hermann can’t take it anymore.

            “Newt, Newt,” Hermann says, snorting when Newt spills some of his drink, “Newt, I think we best retire. They look about ready to throw us out.” Hermann nods his head dramatically in the direction of the annoyed looking bartenders.

            “Let’s go to my room. We can bust open the minibar since I don’t have to pay for it.”

            That sets Hermann laughing again (Hermann! Laughing! Newt’s forced to clutch his damn pearls, he’s so surprised), and he requires Newt’s help to get off his stool without hurting himself. Hermann grasps his cane and follows Newt to the elevators. Newt still can’t believe he’s drunk with Hermann. God, he’s good.

            He half expects Hermann to back out during the elevator ride, but he doesn’t. They stay in companionable silence until they’re in Newt’s room. Hermann immediately sits on the bed, adjusting himself so that his leg is comfortable. Newt heads for the minibar. As he bends over to get the two of them something to drink, the back of his shirt rides up.

            “Now when on earth did you get that?” Hermann asks from where he’s sitting on Newt’s bed.

            Newt’s not sure what he’s talking about at first, but then he understands. He turns so his back is facing Hermann, unbuttons his shirt, then takes it off. The tattoo, a thin, skeletal tree, reaches from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, a long, slim line of black. “I got it about a year ago when I visited Kyoto,” Newt explains.

            “Why would you want a dead tree?” Hermann asks.

            Newt shrugs. “It just felt right,” he says. There’s significantly more to the story, but he’d rather they stay happy drunks instead of maudlin ones.

            Hermann stands to get a better look at Newt’s ink, and Newt isn’t sure what to expect, but Hermann’s warm hand trailing down his spine isn’t it.

            “The pain must have been excruciating,” Hermann says quietly.

            Newt almost tells him that was the point, but instead he says, “Almost unbearable.”

            “But you did bear it,” Hermann says.

            “I did,” Newt agrees, turning around. He puts his shirt back on and starts to button it, and the activity pulls him and Hermann out of the moment. Hermann sits back down on the bed, scootching up against the headboard, and accepts the small bottle Newt offers him. Newt gets on the bed, too, sitting next to Hermann so that their shoulders almost touch. They talk a little about their nerves for their upcoming presentations, taking sips of their drinks to cover any pauses.

            “I have a hard time imagining you being nervous about getting attention,” Hermann says before he drains his bottle.

            “Hey,” Newt says, finishing his own. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m such an attention whore.”

            “Oh, you must be joking,” Hermann scoffs.

            Newt chuckles. “I might be.”

            They start talking about the semester they had together years ago. It’s nice for Newt to finally get some kind of idea of what the fuck was going on in Hermann’s head back then, though he could have figured it out for himself if he’d really wanted to. Mostly, Hermann just thought Newt was annoying.

            Which, you know. Fair enough.

            “But, you know, I figured out why I was so intense about you,” Newt says, drunk enough to broach this territory.

            Hermann _hmmm_ s, his eyes closed and his head leaning back against the headboard.

            “Dude, the crush I had on you was massive.”           

            His confession is met with silence. When Newt hazards a look in Hermann’s direction, he sees that Hermann’s eyes are wide as saucers, and his body’s gone stiff. “I didn’t know,” he says, tense.

            “Really? I thought I must have been so obvious. I liked you the moment I saw you.”

            Something in Hermann seems to snap. “No you didn’t,” he says harshly. “You laughed at me the first time you saw me.” 

            Newt can’t exactly argue with that, so he tries to explain, shifting himself so that he’s awkwardly leaning his side against the headboard so that he can look at Hermann directly. “Yeah, I laughed, but it was like… like a _joyous_ laugh!”

            Hermann is 100% unconvinced, and for the first time that evening Newt wishes he wasn’t so drunk. “What was joyous about seeing a scowling man with a cane for the first time?”

            “No, Hermann, you’re not _listening_ to me. Like, I _saw_ you and just looked so ridiculous—”

            “Ridiculous!” Hermann says as he tries to scramble off the bed.

            But Newt grabs him, “Let me fucking finish, you twit; you looked _ridiculously adorable_ with your _sweater_ and your _shoes_ , and it just…I looked at you and you made me _happy_ , and I laughed.”

            Hermann stares at Newt.

            Newt stares at Hermann.

            And then Newt kisses Hermann.

            And Hermann kisses back.

            Newt wishes he could tell if Hermann is a good kisser or not, but his brain’s stuck on _YOU’RE KISSING HERMANN, YOU’RE KISSING HERMANN, YOU’RE KISSING HERMANN_ , so any other sensation gets lost in the fold. Newt pulls back long enough to take his shirt off again, this time tugging it awkwardly over his head, his glasses coming off with it. He leaves those off, too, moving back in to kiss Hermann and slide his hands under his shirt. Hermann _oomfs_ into his mouth when Newt’s hands make contact with Hermann’s skin.

            “Off,” he mumbles against Newt’s lips, and then his shirt is clumsily removed, also. They adjust so that Hermann is lying on his back, which seems the most comfortable for his leg, and Newt slides on top of him, slipping his legs in between Newt’s thighs. He works open Hermann’s slacks, taking a moment to slur, “I liked the jeans better.”

            “What are you talking about?” Hermann asks breathily.

            “At the bar that one time,” Newt says once Herman’s belt is unbuckled. “You wore some fine-ass jeans, Doc.”

            “You remember that?” Hermann says, finally getting around to unfastening Newt’s jeans.

            “I told you: I had a massive crush.” Then Newt leans back down to kiss Hermann.

            When he feels Hermann’s hand palming his erection, Newt needs to pause so that this thing doesn’t end before it begins. He sits back on his knees. “Can I take these off?” he asks Hermann, tugging at the fabric of the slacks. Hermann, who has one hand lazily rubbing his own hard-on through his briefs, nods. Newt tugs Hermann’s pants and briefs off, trying to be careful, and finds he has to stop when he sees Hermann’s penis bounce free. Christ, but this is not the doctor Newt thought he knew. Not even a little bit.

            He takes his own pants and underwear off next, then settles back between Hermann’s thighs. “I don’t know…” Newt says, but he can’t make himself finish. There’s too fucking much he doesn’t know. What Hermann wants. What Hermann needs. What _he_ wants and needs. What Hermann has already done. What he’d like to try. What they’ll say in the morning. What the fuck they’re doing right now.

            It’s all zipping through Newt’s alcohol-soaked brain. He’s too drunk to sort it all out, but not drunk enough to turn it all off and _focus_ , which he really fucking needs to be able to do right now with goddamn Hermann Gottlieb laying down beneath him.

            “Just, just…” Hermann says, but then he trails off, too. Hermann slowly moves his hand down to his penis and starts to rub the base, sometimes slipping a finger over the leaking tip. “Just come down here,” he finally manages to say, and Newt complies, throws his leg over Hermann’s good one and locks their hips together.

            It makes it easier for Hermann to grab Newt’s penis along with his own. Makes it easier for him to slick their dicks together and kiss Newt at the same time. Makes it easier for them to come in frantic waves that must make Hermann’s leg twinge.

            It’s easy to fall asleep afterwards, too. Neither of them wants to talk about it, and they’re both still a little drunk. So they sleep.

 

            The next morning, Newt wakes up, yawns, stretches out his arms and smacks Hermann right in the face, waking him immediately, too. In a rush it all comes back to Newt: the drinking, the soul-baring, the kissing, the…the…other stuff. He’s hoping the accidental smack is the only thing Hermann’s upset about when he comes completely to.

            He thinks Hermann’s going to freak, though, so he throws and arm over his bare chest and tucks his head into Hermann’s side. “Don’t be weird!” he says into his rib cage.

            Hermann jolts at the sensation. “I’m not going to be weird,” he grumps. “Though I thought you liked weird.”

            Newt raises his head. “Not that kind of weird. And I just have to say that personally I think last night was awesome, and I just want you to know that there’s more where that came from, should you feel so inclined.”

            “Oh, good god, Newt, my head is in too much pain to listen to you natter on. Also what time is it?”

            Newt looks to the clock on the nightstand. “It’s just before eight. Speakers don’t start until ten, and neither of us is on till the afternoon.”

            “Thank you for telling me much of what I already knew,” Hermann says, and then groans. “Tell me you have some aspirin.”

            Newt sits up, scratches his belly, then immediately regrets it. “I think I’ve got some in my bag,” he says with a grimace. He leans over the side of the mattress to reach his travel bag and comes back up with a small bottle. “Can you take it dry or do you need some water?”

            Hermann responds by scowling and snatching the bottle away. He doesn’t need water. Newt follows suit, then tucks the bottle back away.

            “I’m going to shower,” he announces, and though he’s tempted to invite Hermann, he thinks it’s better if they have a little break.

            When he steps out of the bathroom, towel draped over his hips, Newt’s not exactly surprised to find that Hermann’s left. He’s not even sure he’s disappointed. He dresses and heads down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, determined to find himself some coffee and go over his presentation notes, and ignore the part of his brain that’s screaming to over-analyze the last twelve hours.

            It doesn’t help when Hermann walks into the restaurant, like some kind of fucking silly looking beacon in a knit sweater, scuffed shoes, and with a ridiculous hair part that demands Newt’s attention. Newt looks up as soon as Hermann walks in, and once eye contact’s been made it’s as if there’s no other choice than for Hermann to join Newt at the table.

            Newt starts fidgeting immediately, his brain going a thousand miles a minute, trying to decide what to blurt out inappropriately first. Hermann, however, knows a bit about how Newt works, and he silences Newt’s hundreds of questions and comments before he’s even begun to make them.

            “I don’t want to talk about last night,” Hermann states. “At least, not until I’m done with my presentation.”

            Newt sort of understands. One thing at a time and all. But Newt’s not sure he can focus on anyone’s presentation, and especially not his own, until he talks about what happened, and he’s not sure he believes Hermann’s going to be able to do that either. But he lets it go and agrees to keep quiet about it.

            Newt knows, and he’s pretty sure Hermann does, too, that the last thing they should probably be doing is spending time together. Yet somehow, silently, they agree to stay attached at the hip for the day. They spend a few hours in Hermann’s room going over their notes, and only occasionally taking breaks to catch a presentation.

            Newt’s presenting first, Hermann a speaker later. Before Newt heads down to the main hall, he’s surprised when Hermann grabs his hand and pulls Newt into an awkward hug. As they separate, Hermann leans in to give Newt a gentle kiss.

            “You’ll do very well,” he says quietly, and Newt can only nod.

            Hermann watches Newt’s entire presentation, even the question and answer segment. But when Newt’s done, Hermann is nowhere to be found, so Newt finds a seat and waits until it’s Hermann’s time to present. He can tell, even from his seat far from the stage, Hermann is practically shaking in his boots. But once he starts discussing his research everything about Hermann changes. He becomes the quick-witted and arrogant professor—excuse you, _doctor—_ that Newt remembers. There are no jangled nerves in Hermann’s presentation, just confidence and passion. And Newt just has to laugh.

 

            In the end, talking about the night before translates roughly into having sex that very evening and not leaving Newt’s hotel room for the entirety of the following day. It’s brilliant, as far as Newt’s concerned. It gives him the best of both worlds: he gets to have all the great sex he wants (and really, Hermann is surprisingly good), and he doesn’t have to talk about it. Perfection! There’s absolutely 100% nothing that can go wrong with their present situation.

            As long as Newt keeps his affections for Hermann locked up tight, he’ll be fine. No need to go and ruin a perfect weekend spent with someone you previously assumed couldn’t stand you by being an idiot and bringing up what are sure to still be completely unwanted feelings. Keep it physical. Keep it simple. Keep it fucking _quiet._

            Which is why Newt has his ticket for the next day back to Japan bumped up a few hours, and why he hurriedly packs his room when Hermann returns to his own to change that morning and sneaks away without saying goodbye.


	3. Three

            They don’t run into each other again until after K-Day, three years after Berlin. Marshall Stacker Pentecost recruits them both without knowing they have a history, which makes for the most awkward first day of work _ever._

            “Doctor, I think you’ve been told our other head k-science officer is sort of a Tokyo native?”

            Newt can hear Pentecost’s powerful voice from around the corner, and he knows he’s about to meet his new partner. Things have moved so fast that he doesn’t even know the name of the man who’ll help Newt guide the research effort, so he’s completely blindsided when there’s a perfunctory throat clearing, and Newt turns to see the Marshall standing with Hermann.

            “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Newt says, dropping his bit of kaiju intestine all over the floor.

            Hermann has gone ash white.

            Pentecost is understandably confused. “I take it you both know each other?” he asks carefully.

            “I can’t work with this man,” Hermann finally says. And it hurts Newt. It really fucking does, even though he knows he doesn’t have the right to be so sensitive. He left Hermann that day. Left him without much of a second thought, too. Of course Hermann never wants to see him again.

            “I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Pentecost says, completely disinterested in their past drama.

            “I’m sorry, sir, but you don’t understand—” Hermann tries again.

            “On the contrary, I understand everything I need to,” Pentecost replies. “The world is under attack from creatures we cannot currently comprehend and are woefully unprepared to fight, and you two are the most scientifically qualified to help us determine their weaknesses. I’m sure you can see there’s nothing else for me to understand.” Pentecost smiles tightly at the both of them. “Doctor Geiszler, I trust you’ll show Doctor Gottlieb around,” he says, then leaves the pair alone in the lab.

            “Hey,” Newt says, waving a gloved, kaiju-gut splattered hand weakly.

            Hermann turns abruptly and leaves the room.           

            “Motherfucker,” Newt says aloud to the empty room.

 

            Newt wishes he had a better excuse for his past behavior besides “I didn’t know if we were serious, and I was too afraid to find out,” but that’s pretty much the only one he’s got. He knows Hermann won’t accept it, but Newt’s not going to be able to work in any capacity with the doctor until he tries to talk to him about it.

            He approaches Hermann the next day just before breakfast, waiting outside Hermann’s room until he exits. Hermann makes to turn back around and re-enter his room once he sees Newt, but Newt grabs his arm to halt him.

            “Look, I get that I’m the last person you want to see, let alone work with, but we have to talk about Berlin if we’re going to try and make this partnership work.”

            Hermann looks frantically around, checking that there’s no one loitering about, before responding. “I have no words for you, Mr. Geiszler. No words for what you did to me. I expected better from you, but I should have known I’d be disappointed in a lackadaisical arse such as yourself. I made a grave, grave mistake in Berlin, one that I won’t be making again. And I do not believe there is anything else that needs saying.”

            Newt thinks maybe, “I’m sorry,” needs saying on his part at least, be he’s too furious. Mostly at himself, but also at Hermann for being so emotionally invested in what happened three years ago when he was _supposed_ to have been indifferent. Newt had thought he’d been indifferent.

            “So you think you’ll be able to maintain a professional relationship with me?” Newt asks skeptically.

            “Mr. Geiszler, there are a number of things that rank higher in importance than our petty and unfortunate past. For one, _the damn kaiju_ , in case you had forgotten. I’ve lost three family members and a variety of colleagues to the beasts, and I shall do everything in my power to assure I lose no one else. If that means suffering through your sure to be horrendous laboratory manners, then I will do just that.”

            Newt’s not sure how to respond. He doesn’t know how much he really wants to talk about his, you know, _feelings_ , and Hermann’s made it perfectly clear where he’s coming from. So Newt does the cowardly thing and stays silent. It’s probably better this way. They’re not here for a resolution; they’re here to work.

           

            Working with Hermann is incredibly difficult, though, Newt finds. They disagree on practically every point, and their general way of maintaining their lab space makes cohabitation nearly impossible. The rest of the research team can barely tolerate being around the pair of them at the same time, which makes working every day the biggest chore.

            Newt knows it’s not fair to the rest of the team, their behavior. But he knows how to needle Hermann like no one else, and he’s still so _angry._ He doesn’t even know what he’s really angry at anymore. Hermann seems to suffer from a similar state of rage, and it’s easiest just to take it out on each other.

            Barbs turn meaner over time. More cutting. More condescending. Just nastier overall. Newt knows this job is killing Hermann. He can see that he’s lost weight, that he’s not sleeping well. He can tell the pain in Hermann’s leg is never less than excruciating. And it just makes Newt madder. He wants Hermann to quit. To take better care of himself. Newt’s not doing much better (he seems to need a tighter belt every week), but somehow it’s different when it’s Hermann.

            If Newt had been able to know that this is how they ended up, horrifyingly bitter and laced with a pain that’s pretty much entirely Newt’s fault, he never would have spoken to Hermann at the conference. He never would have fought him about his grades back in college. He would have admired Hermann’s quirky disposition from afar and left it at that.

            But he didn’t know, and here they are, unable to hold even a single civilized conversation and spending most of their time in a furious silence. It’s an awful way to live. Especially when compounded by the ever-present threat of the kaiju.

            When Tokyo is hit, things for Newt get exponentially worse. He loses a half a dozen friends in the attack, including his best friend from his doctoral program. He stays in his room for two days, unable to face the lab. Newt doesn’t think he can deal with Hermann’s cold eyes or the research team’s pitying expressions. He doesn’t eat. He can hardly sleep.

            On the third day of his self-imposed exile, Hermann comes to see him. Newt doesn’t know how he gets into his room, and he’s readying himself to rip Hermann a new one for daring to come into his space at a time like this when Hermann envelops him into a hug.

            It should be awkward—Hermann’s hugs always were—but somehow it’s not. Hermann’s sweater smells like chalk dust and ever-so-faintly of cigarette smoke. Newt sobs into his shoulder, and it feels impossible that he’ll ever stop.

            He cries for Hiroto and for Yuuko. He cries for a city he fell in love with and had come to consider home. He cries for what he did to Hermann, and for what he’s done to himself. Hermann maneuvers the pair of them onto Newt’s bed and sits with Newt patiently, running his hand through his hair and whispering quietly into his ear.

            “I know it hurts,” he says softly. “But it will one day hurt less, I promise, Newt.”

            “I’m so fucking sorry,” Newt says through his tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

           

            Things get a little easier between the two of them after Newt’s breakdown, much to everyone’s relief. Pentecost comes to check in on them noticeably more often and stays a little longer. The research assistants even manage to crack a few jokes here and there.

            But Hermann still refuses to talk about Berlin with Newt.

            “I just think we’d feel better if we unloaded about that whole…experience,” Newt tries one night during dinner. They’ve taken to sometimes sharing meals together, mostly because they’ve no one else to eat with. The jaeger pilots have nothing in common with them, and even though they get on better, their research team still isn’t their biggest fan.

            “Well, Newton, I do not share that outlook. I’d really much prefer to pretend the whole weekend never happened,” Hermann answers curtly.

            “Come on, man, it wouldn’t kill you to—”

            “Newt, that’s enough,” Hermann says, voice strained. He turns his gaze towards the colorful ink on Newt’s forearm. “I’d like to discuss our time in Berlin as much as you’d like to discuss your horrific tattoo again.” Hermann hate’s Newt’s new permanent artwork, hates it with a fiery, and downright inspiring, passion.  

            “Seriously, Doc, you’re going to have to get over it.”

            “But a _kaiju_ , Newton? Honestly.”

            Newt knows it’s a weird choice, especially given that the kaiju on his arm is the one that hit Tokyo. But Newt’s got this thing about tattoos: they’re supposed to hurt. They’re a physical expression of pain, literally and metaphorically. He got the tree down his spine when his father died. Hermann asked why he wanted something dead, and Newt just hadn’t felt ready to tell him that it was because it represented someone who had died.

            The kaiju are Newt’s life now. They’ve given him pain, sure, but they’ve also given him the pure unadulterated pleasure of scientific discovery and adventure. So he has one painted on his arm in the traditional Japanese style as both a reminder and a memorial of what the kaiju have given him, and what they’ve taken away. He thinks Hermann understands that, but they need something to argue about when they’re not arguing about their work, so Newt doesn’t mind when he gets the lecture Hermann always seems ready to give.

            The light-hearted rants Hermann throws his way about the tattoos are certainly preferable to the serious business fits Hermann’s prone to when it comes to their lab. Newt is…not the neatest man in the world, and Hermann is most certainly not the most flexible. They argue incessantly about errant kaiju glands and Hermann’s habit of depositing his cane in places where he _knows_ —Newt’s sure he knows—that Newt will trip on it.

            Sometimes the fights that start about their lab can grow into something much worse. Sometimes, when the strain of one more kaiju massacre is too much for the pair, arguments about organization turn into arguments about things that are much more personal, like Newt’s disregard of others around him, or Hermann’s callous exterior.

            “You’re never going to change” Hermann screams one night across the lab after the othes have gone. “You’re always going to trample over everyone else’s life like one of those damned kaiju you worship!”

            “Oh, that’s rich, Hermann!” Newt laughs. “I’m the asshole in the room right now, sure. But you’re the one who doesn’t even know how to fucking interact with other human beings. How many people even _like_ you Hermann?” Newt knows it’s a low blow, but he’s just getting started. The anniversary of the attack on Tokyo is coming up, and he’s got a lot of unresolved grief he’s hankering to take out on someone. Preferably someone as awful and ridiculous as Hermann.

            “How many friends do I have, Newton? You speak as if you have many of your own.”

            Somewhere in Newt’s brain he knows Hermann doesn’t mean that the way it sounds like he means that. He knows Hermann would never, ever use the deaths of his friends in Tokyo against him like this. He knows Hermann’s just lashing out because it’s been fucking _years_ since they were thrown into this fucking box together, and people are still dying.

            But Newt’s spoiling for a fight, aching to just spit some of the vitriol that’s been sitting in his belly onto someone else, wants Hermann to burn with Newt’s very own brand of kaiju blue. So he offers Hermann a sick smile and a small laugh.

            “I may not have a lot of friends, Hermann. Not my fault a number of them happen to have _died,_ ” and Hermann swallows, suddenly aware of how his last words have been taken. “But I’ve still got more than you’ve ever had in your entire fucking life, you conceited piece of shit. I mean it’s a wonder you even got anyone to fuck you who wasn’t me, really. You’ve got the appeal of a kaiju asshole and a personality to match. No wonder your boyfriend in college dumped you, like I’m sure everyone along the way has.”

            It’s too much. Newt knows it’s too much before it’s all even out of his mouth. But he and Hermann have developed that kind of deeply unhealthy relationship that allows them to say the worst imaginable things to one another, because they know they won’t leave. They can’t leave, for the sake of the goddamn world. And in a way, Newt thrives on these rare moments of brutality between him and Hermann. They bottle so much up, especially Hermann, that it seems the only time either of them says anything with even remotely a kernel of truth in it is when they’re screaming hateful things at one another.

            Of course, Newt’s just said the worst thing to Hermann that’s ever come out of his mouth. Arguably, Hermann’s said the same.

            Hermann stands frozen to the spot, eyes wide. “How do you know about that?” he asks, voice shaky.

            “What does it fucking matter?”

            “I suppose it doesn’t, Newton. I suppose it’s just one more shining example of the way you like to crawl into my life without regard for how I might feel about it, make a rightful mess of everything, and then waltz out without taking any responsibility for the havoc you’ve left behind.”

            Newt sees where this is going, and he feels his heart stop for a moment. “Are we finally going to talk about Berlin?”

            “YES,” Hermann rages, a complete one-eighty from his quiet tone before. “Jesus fucking Christ, Newton, we can fucking talk about Berlin! Now what the goddamn hell do you want to goddamn say?”

            “That I’m sorry!” Newt says without hesitation. His anger from moments before hasn’t left him, but he’s been waiting for years to apologize directly for leaving Hermann behind in Berlin.

            “I don’t care!” Hermann screams. “I would have left with you!”

            A stunned silence follows, punctuated only by Hermann’s ragged breaths. “I didn’t…I didn’t know,” is all Newt can bring himself to say.

            Hermann scrubs at his eyes. “I would have…I don’t. I don’t just…sleep with anyone, Newt. I’ve….” It looks like it’s physically paining Hermann to speak. Newt stays silent. “You said you liked me in college, and I, Newt, your feelings were not unreturned. And when I saw you in Berlin…when you, when you kissed me…I would have left with you, Newton. If you had asked, I would have come back to Tokyo with you. If…if you had wanted.

            “But that morning you were gone. Not a word. And I’ve never felt so…so damn _foolish_ in all my life. Never. And you did that to me, Newt. And I bet you didn’t think twice about it.”

            “How was I supposed to know, Hermann?” Newt asks, taking a couple steps forwards. “You seemed to barely tolerate me in school, which I wouldn’t have blamed you for, you know? I thought Berlin…I didn’t know what to think about what happened. I just wanted to think about what we had at the time.”

            “And you did not still have feelings for me, yes I understand, Newton.”

            “No, Hermann, I did! Don’t be dense. I still, Jesus fuck, man, after years of antagonism I still think you’re the greatest human being alive on this goddamn ravaged earth.” Newt takes a breath, runs a hand through his hair. “But Berlin…I didn’t want to ask you how you felt, because I was positive you’d say no. I was certain you were sleeping with me for the novelty of it or some bullshit like that.”

            Hermann looks so damn distressed. “Newt, surely you knew me better than to think that.”

            “God, do you know how fucked up I am? I can talk myself into and out of anything I want, Hermann. It’s kind of a skill of mine.”

            Hermann wears the faintest of smiles. “Yes, like making things ‘weird’ between us.”

            Newt wants to laugh at the throwback comment, but he feels more like crying. “I don’t know what to do about this, about us.”

            Hermann shakes his head. “I don’t know, either, Newton.”

            Newt nods. “Honestly, I can’t really imagine how anything between us could possibly work at this point.”

Hermann swallows and nods. “I’m going to bed, Newt.” He turns to leave the lab but stops after a few feet. “And Newton, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it how it came out.”

            Newt waves a tired hand. “I know, Hermann. I’m sorry, too. Good night.”

            Newt doesn’t make it back to his room for another hour, taking the time to pace the outside of the Shatterdome. When he does finally make it to bed, he still doesn’t sleep. It doesn’t help that he counts death tolls instead of sheep.


	4. Four

           They don’t start a relationship. Things don’t magically get fixed between them now that they’ve bared their hearts. But being around each other does get easier. They slowly return to their previous state of comfortable bickering, and no arguments reach any level of real animosity. They tread carefully when they fight, not wanting to invite any more brutal truths to come to the surface, though as far as Newt’s concerned he’s told Hermann everything there is to know about how he feels about the man. Still, it’s better safe than sorry, so they argue delicately, a seemingly impossible feat but one the two doctors have mastered.

            Everyone can tell something has changed, but no one’s sure if it’s for the better or the worse. There’s something not quite right about a Hermann and a Newt that don’t bicker over every little insignificant thing. But no one says anything, though a quickly growing young Mako does find the courage to ask once if someone in the research department has died.

            “Sweetie, why do you ask that?” Newt says, while he examines a new specimen.

            “Something in the lab isn’t okay,” she replies, giving Newt a _look_ for the term of endearment. Mako’s almost twelve, and Newt should really know better.

            “What do you mean not okay, Mako?” Hermann asks from his place by the chalkboard.

            “It’s very quiet,” Mako explains, earning a snicker from several of the other researchers.

            “No one’s died,” Newt assures her with a small laugh, resisting the urge to tack on a “honey” at the end.

 

            It takes them a year of carefully testing boundaries before they’re back to their usual bickering routine. They share meals together regularly, and even occasionally spend an hour or two drinking beer (very, very slowly, however) in one of their respective rooms. Those nights usually happen around attack anniversaries, though, when they both need a little extra comfort. The visitor is always gone at a decent hour, and there’s an unspoken two-drink maximum.

            They keep to this level of companionship for months. It’s safe, this level. It gives Newt what he needs, even if there’s definitely more that he wants. The longer time passes the more Newt starts to think a relationship isn’t completely out of the question, but given their past he’s way too fucking terrified to bring that particular topic up.

            Though Newt’s starting to think he’s going to have to. Newt wouldn’t call their lab small, per se, but when a minor, really very insignificant little accident involving some mishandled kaiju blue renders half of the lab unusable for a few weeks, things get a little tight. Newt and Hermann are constantly pushing around each other, bumping into one another’s backs, and tripping over the others legs (and cane) like it’s going out of style, and the constant contact is driving Newt a little wild.

            It all comes to a head halfway through the second week. The rest of the researchers have taken off for the day, but Newt and Hermann are still sitting at their temporarily shared desk poring over their individual notes. As Newt reviews the data from his latest skin samples, Hermann lets out a sudden groan and leans to clutch his leg.

            “Hey, whoa, you okay?” Newt asks, putting down his files.

            “Yes, fine, thank you. It’s just a wave, it’ll recede.” Hermann says, his eyes closed against the pain.

            “Does it ever go away?” Newt asks quietly.

            “I’m afraid not, Mr. Geiszler, though I wish it would.”

            “Can I help?”

            Hermann laughs a little, but then he bites back another moan. “You…you could try rubbing along the calf,” he finally offers.

            Newt gently lifts Hermann’s right leg, taking off his shoe and placing his foot in his lap. Then he begins to knead softly along the pained flesh. Newt considers whether it’s the right time to ask the question he desperately wants to know the answer to. Decides it’ll probably never be the right time to ask.

            “You know, you never told me what happened to your leg.”

            Hermann sighs. “Riding accident when I was fourteen. Horse smashed my leg up and it didn’t heal right.”

            Newt nods, unsure of how to respond, and focuses on massaging Hermann’s calf. It does seem to be helping, he’s glad to see.

            “Thank you, Newt, that feels much better.”

            Newt thinks that’s his cue to let go of Hermann’s leg, but he doesn’t. He just keeps rubbing. Hermann gives him a wary look.

            “It’s been hard sharing this space, don’t you think?” Newt asks carefully. He’s trying to keep his mind off the erection slowly swelling in his pants. The last thing he wants is Hermann’s stupid foot bumping into something it shouldn’t.

            “And whose fault is that?” Hermann asks through narrowed eyes.

            “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Newt says, moving his hand up Hermann’s leg. “I just think it’s been a little…frustrating…the way we can’t seem to avoid bumping into each other, that’s all.”

            “Newt, that’s enough,” Hermann says, and Newt’s not sure if he’s referring to Newt’s line of discussion or to Newt’s steady hand. He ignores the comment either way.

            “Somehow the other techs don’t seem to have the same kind of trouble we do when negotiating the new space, have you noticed?” Newt continues. He chances a look at Hermann’s crotch, and sees an interest there that mirrors his own. Then he moves his eyes up to Hermann’s face. He’s blushing. It’s adorable.

            Newt makes up his mind. He gently puts Hermann’s leg back on the ground and scoots his chair closer to Hermann. “Maybe your leg would feel better if you had a distraction,” he says quietly.

            Hermann rolls his eyes. “My god, Newt, that’s a terrible line.” A beat, a resigned sigh. “But okay.” Then Hermann leans forward to the meet Newt halfway, and they’re kissing like they did god knows how many years ago.

            They don’t rush back to Hermann’s room since his leg is still acting up, but they don’t take their time either. Once inside, Hermann gives Newt an apologetic look. “I need a moment to take something for the pain.”

            Newt smiles, drops a soft kiss on Hermann’s lips, and tells him, “Whatever you need, Hermann. We’ve got time.”

            While Hermann takes his painkillers, Newt begins to undress. He’s only got his shirt off when Hermann turns back to face him, expression slack. “Christ, I didn’t realize how many you had,” he whispers. “We’ve failed so many times.”

            “I don’t think of them like that,” Newt says, but he’s not ready to get into how he sees his various tattoos with Hermann just yet. Hermann’s hands hover just above his skin, making Newt shiver. “Let’s lay down, then you can touch them all you want.”

            “I don’t want to touch them,” Hermann mutters. Newt just gives him a look.

            Newt finishes undressing himself, then turns his attentions to Hermann. Hermann lets him remove his sweater, then his button up, then his undershirt. He lets Newt unbuckle his belt, then unfasten his slacks. He closes his eyes and takes a breath as Newt pulls down his pants and his underwear.

            They move to the bed when they’re both completely nude, Newt lying on his back, Hermann on his left side facing Newt, his left hand tracing the ink patterns in his skin.

            “You secretly love them,” Newt teases.

            “I…I do think their interesting,” Hermann concedes. He leans over to take an unmarked nipple into his mouth, eliciting a gasp out of Newt. “I thought I remembered you liked that,” Hermann says.

            “I remember what you like, too,” Newt replies, then he leads Hermann’s face up to meet his own so that he can suckle gently at Hermann’s lower lip.

            They carry on slowly, Hermann taking breaks to lick lines and curves over Newt’s growing number of tattoos. Newt switches between tugging lazily on Hermann’s penis and his own.   

            “I don’t know if I can wait any longer,” he mumbles into Hermann’s ear.

            “You don’t have to,” Hermann says back.

            There’s no position that feels great on his leg, but in Berlin they found one that worked better than others. Newt swaps positions with Hermann, so that Hermann’s lying on his back and Newt is kneeling between his thighs. Newt lifts Hermann’s left leg, the good one, and swings his knee over his shoulder. He takes the lube Hermann offers, taken from Hermann’s night stand, and begins to prepare him.

            Newt has to go slow because it’s been a while for Hermann. “Was there anyone else after me?” Newt asks, two of his fingers massaging Hermann gently.

            Hermann is panting, his cock leaking. “There was one. He…he wasn’t the most gentle, but he got the job done.”

            Newt wants to ask more questions, feels a sudden burning need for more details, but then the tip of his middle finger brushes Hermann’s prostate, and the moan he lets loose shoos all other thoughts from Newt’s mind.

            A short while later and Hermann is begging Newt for more. Newt gives it to him.

            They slide together perfectlyjust like Newt remembers, and Newt can’t help but laugh. Hermann laughs too, happy to be where he is. Newt keeps a firm grip on Hermann’s extended leg, planting kisses along the inner knee while he fucks himself in deeper. Hermann tugs his penis, his other hand rubbing alone Newt’s chest.

            It ends sooner than they both would have liked, but Newt figures they’ve got plenty of time for more. As Newt begins to drift to sleep, Hermann’s head resting against his arm, he hears a murmured, “Please don’t leave, Newt.”

            “I’m not going anywhere Hermann. We’ve got a world to save.”

            “Newt, you know what I mean.”

            “I do know. And I’m telling you that I’m not going anywhere.”

            Newt keeps his word.

 

            They still don’t call it a relationship. They work together, they eat together, they fight like cats and dogs together, and more often than not they sleep together. And sometimes that’s literally all they do: sleep.

            They don’t tell anyone, because it’s really nobody’s business. They aren’t a _thing_. They’re just…Hermann and Newt. Newt knows Hermann would prefer something more solid, but in Newt’s experience, giving something an official label usually means signing its death sentence, so he can’t bring himself to consider Hermann his boyfriend or his partner or his whatever else people like to call it. He’s just his Hermann, and he’s Hermann’s Newt. Hermann knows Newt’s being monogamous, and Newt thinks that should be enough.

            “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it is, though, Newt,” Hermann says quietly one evening when they’re lying in to bed, worn out from another day of work and fucked out from the last twenty minutes.

            “Jesus, Hermann, if it’ll make you happy I’ll fucking _marry_ you if we survive this thing,” Newt says, tired of the conversation.

            “I’m holding you to that, Newton,” Hermann says, and when Newt looks over he sees Hermann looking smug.

            “That certain we’ll survive?” Newt asks.

            “You may be an idiot,” Hermann says, letting his eyes fall closed, “but you’re also a genius. I think we’ll make it through all right.”

 

            When the Jaeger project loses its funding, Newt and Hermann have no idea what to do. They know they can still be helpful somewhere, it’s just a matter of figuring out where. They both breathe a sigh of relief when Pentecost tells them about his plan to develop the resistance, and they accept immediately. Telling the rest of their team that they can’t come with them, however, breaks their hearts.

            The move to Honk Kong is also almost more than the two scientists can bear. Devastated from the loss of their team, stretched thin by the extent of the move, and exhausted by the plane ride, Newt and Hermann can barely tolerate to be in the same Shatterdome together, let alone the same elevator. It makes their introductions with the return Jaeger pilot go poorly. Newt tries to seem affable for the sake of getting along with the new guy, but Hermann doesn’t seem interested in playing nice.

            “These are _human beings,_ Hermann, say hello,” Newt says.

            “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me by my first name in front of others!” Hermann snaps.

            And on and on the bickering goes. Raleigh clearly thinks they’re idiots, which is a ridiculous thing to think because, _duh_ heads of the k-science department, _hello_. But it just goes more poorly from there when Raleigh notices his tattoos, and Newt’s too jacked up on Red Bull to be tactful about them. Hermann, always happy to insult Newt in public these days, talks about Newt like he’s a twelve year old boy, and Newt solemnly swears that Hermann’s not getting any for at least a week, because _goddamnit he is not a fucking kaiju grrrrroupie._ God, Hermann and his stupid fucking rolling “R”s.

            Hermann’s outright refusal to acknowledge that Newt’s idea to drift with a kaiju is a legitimate one only adds to their tension. They’re not eating well, they’re not sleeping well, and they are _certainly_ not fucking well, so they’re both the biggest cranky bastards that most people at the Hong Kong base have ever seen. Everyone avoids them, and especially they avoid the lab where one half is so pristine you’re terrified of touching anything, and the other side so thoroughly covered in kaiju goo that you’re _still_ terrified of touching anything. Without the rest of the research team there to help bridge the noticeable gap between Newt’s style of lab management and Hermann’s, they find working together to be significantly more trying. The painted line on the floor does nothing to help keep their frustrations contained to their respective sides.

            But the days in Hong Kong pass quickly. They’re a blur of horrifying kaiju, heart-stopping loss, and the most absolute fear that Newt’s ever experienced. That fear is what drives him to drift with the kaiju, regardless of what Pentecost and Hermann have to say about it. He can’t think about them as he hooks everything up. He can only think about San Francisco and Sydney. About Tokyo. Fear, anger, and the certainty that he isn’t wrong make him able to stick the stupid device on his head. He’s a genius. It’ll work.

            And it does work. Works even better when Hermann decides to participate, though that’s the moment of terror Newt remembers the most vividly, the terror that Hermann wouldn’t be able to take it. Of course, Newt forgets that Hermann’s made of a patented mix of chalk dust, arrogance, and a deep-seated need to say, “I told you so,” so he survives the drift just fine.

           Within hours, Newt and Hermann have essentially saved the day as well as _the world_ (and Newt _will_ fight anyone who disagrees with that assessment; they may not have piloted any Jaegers, but the plan wouldn’t have worked without them), and Newt decides he’s not mad at Hermann anymore for being such a ridiculous stick in the mud with terrible sweaters, boring shirts, and the most adorable little side part that Newt’s ever seen.

            After they leave the celebratory party that evening (what is sure to be the first of many) and once they’ve made it to Hermann’s room, Newt pulls Hermann in for the kiss he’s been holding back since Hermann made the drift with him.

            “Please say we can spend the next week in bed, fucking like bunnies and only leaving for food and bathroom breaks?”

            Hermann grins, and it’s the easiest smile Newt’s ever seen grace that ridiculously perfect face. “What about for a trip to the courthouse?” he asks. “I seem to remember someone promising me a marriage.”

            Newt laughs, laughs like he hasn’t laughed in years, and nods. “But you have to take my last name.”


End file.
